


Pitter-Patter of Little Feet

by smos



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 04:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10209383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smos/pseuds/smos
Summary: It's said that a mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no pity nor no law...not even the laws of time and magic. Harry/Hermione. Time-travel fic.





	1. Prologue - Mother Goose

**12 Midnight, 21st March 2009**  
**Saturday, Spring Equinox**  
**The Forbidden Forest, Scotland**

  
Few people would agree but there was beauty to behold in the Forbidden Forest, particularly on a night when magic was at its most potent. The moon was high in the sky, full and luminous; a beautiful ball of light that cast down soothing silver beams to everything within its reach, lending an otherworldly glow to every straining branch, every sprouting leaf, every growing shrub littered across the woodland. Not a wisp of cloud in the sky dared to obstruct the wondrous view of the stars as they twinkled from above, winking down at the onlookers by the million, the Milky Way and many of its constellations on display.

The midnight air was cool, so rife with the raw energy of the earth that it glowed in soft lights of yellow and green and blue and red, weaving through the forest floor in swaying, shimmering blankets, through roots and trunks in a graceful display of nature’s magical beauty. It was the kind of magic that the creatures that dwell within the enchanted forest recognised on the most basic of levels—one that they revelled in and celebrated with their very being.

It was a night of mystery, of harmony.

_Of magic._

"Mummy, da—da wights," a little boy giggled from where he sat upon his mother’s lap, laughingly looking at the floating essence of magic around them as he pressed himself closer to her comforting embrace as if to escape its feather light, shining caresses. "Da wights are tickwing me."

"The lights are tickling you?" His mother clarified from behind him.

"Yeah," he nodded, giggling.

"Well, that’s because those lights are alive," came his mother’s conspiratorial whisper near his ear, a gentle smile gracing her lips, wrapping herself around him as they gaze out at the bright spectacle before them, cuddling him teasingly, "with magic."

At the mention of a word he recognised, the toddler turned to look at her, a curious glint radiating from his eyes through the psychedelic swirls of colours that was reflected in its deep hazel depths. "Magic? Wike wights dat—dat…Wights…wights from wands?"

"That’s right," the woman averred, her tone, though soft, was high with praise. "What a smart little boy you are."

Her son pouted sourly at her description of him. "I’m not wittwe. I’m big, wike daddy."

Mummy chuckled and amended her earlier error, enfolding her arms more securely about him. "Of course, you are." She rubbed their noses together playfully. "Big and brave."

"Wike daddy!" The little lad beamed.

"Like daddy."

Then he paused, a little frown puckering his brow like it always did when he was thinking hard about something, his head tilting to the side inquisitively. "Mummy, where’s daddy?"

"Well," Raising a hand to sweep her knuckles gently against his upturned cheek, she answered the innocuous question with a solemnity she had been avoiding since they had arrived at the forest two days ago, her smile waning at the edges, a detail that went unheeded by her little infant, "he’s not here right now, love. But you shall see him again soon. I promise."

"Oh." For a moment, the little boy merely regarded his mum seriously, looking for all the world like he understood what was beneath the surface of her words. Fortunately, it was not the case, as the eager grin that suddenly encompassed his boyish features told of the youthful innocence he still carried, as yet unmarred by the taint of the world. "Okay. When he comes back, can I…can…Daddy and I can pway?"

The mother gave an answering grin. "Of course, honey. I’m sure he’d love to."

"Okay," he acquiesced, nodding his satisfaction.

Smiling her endearment at his antics, the woman looked upon her son’s face, so innocent and so full of joy, and a rush of love and affection washed over her. This was how she wanted to remember him, happy and radiant, filled with life and laughter. He was her reason for living, for her sacrifice, the very reason she carried on each day with hope and love and magic in her heart, in her very essence. For him, she would do the impossible.

Overwhelmed by her sudden bout of emotions—emotions she had tried to get a handle on for what seemed like a lifetime—she ran a hand through his unruly mop of dark curly hair, smoothing it back, and hugged him to her fiercely, trying to convey her feelings in the best way she knew how. "I love you so much, my little darling."

"I wove you, too, Mummy," came the child’s automatic response, his tiny arms going round to wrap themselves around his mother’s neck, unconsciously finding comfort in the warmth of her embrace as he rested his head against her shoulder, burying his head into her wealth of thick curly hair. He yawned.

Taking her cue, the young mother pulled back and settled her baby more comfortably, leaning back against the trunk of the sturdy tree they sat under so he could rest his head easily on her chest, arranging him into the cradle of her arms. "Sleep," she crooned.

"Mummy?"

"Hmm…?" she hummed in query as she started to rock him to sleep, a lilting melody on her lips.

"The wights…" he heaved out a great yawn once more, and he squirmed to find a better, more acceptable position, squinting up at her drowsily, "…the wights stiw tickwe."

"Shhhh…" she soothed.

Finally, his eyes fell shut and then there were just the familiar strains of a wordless lullaby. The droning tune filtered into the peace of the night, melding with the forest’s nocturnal orchestra, the beams of magic streaming to and fro and the rustling leaves dancing with the whistling breeze. From a distance, owls hooted and large spiders scurried, revelling in their hunt for sustenance. Creatures of the enchanted forest fluttered about their business, soaking in the essence of tangible magic. In the turmoil that ravaged the world, life at the Forbidden Forest continued. It continued because it still could. Because it was natural.

 _Not for long_ , she thought grimly.

If she didn’t succeed, all that would be left would be chaos and devastation. All forms of life and all that was natural would cease to exist. It was a future, now a true inevitability, that she would protect her son from. Even if it meant defying logic and shaking the very foundations with which the magical world thrived upon.

Moments later, when the babe was fast asleep and his breaths were as deep as his dreams, the rhythmic sound of clopping hooves permeated through the bubble of timeless serenity that had settled upon mother and child. A centaur emerged from the darkness, his strides confident and sure, his posture as regal and proud as his race. He stopped before her and tipped his head to her politely.

"It is time."

She looked up at the tall beast standing before her, his shock of white hair shining a silver gleam under the bright kiss of moonlight. "Thank you, Firenze. You don’t know how much this this means to me."

"It is a common fate that we wish to avoid, and in that we are of kindred hearts. Even my colony recognises that to be the truth." Firenze declared matter-of-factly. His brilliant blue eyes pierced her with its luminosity. "It is you to whom we should express our gratitude. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten."

She smiled up at him wryly. "We haven’t succeeded yet, Professor."

"What the stars have writ in the heavens only serve as a guide, Hermione. We may call it fate, but there is also something to be said about free will."

She looked down at the babe in the cradle of her arms, the gravity in his words a reminder of what was to take place. "Then I hope to all the gods that it is to our favour." Hermione murmured quietly, dolefully.

"We can only hope. Are you ready?"

She nodded, never taking her eyes off her drowsing son. _Mummy will always keep you safe, my darling._

"I am."

_Remember that._


	2. Chapter One – See Saw Margery Daw

**12:30 AM, 21st March 2004**

**Friday, Spring Equinox**

**Churchill Gardens, Pimlico, London**

 

 

She was restless. She didn’t know why, but she was. Like there was an annoying itch she couldn’t scratch just beneath the surface of her skin, beyond her reach, beyond relief. It was agitating; so much so that it was driving her to distraction and making her feel out of sorts, clammy and disjointed. The goose flesh that ran down the length of her arms seemed to be telling her that something was wrong, and the fine hairs prickling at the nape of her neck nagged at her that there was something she missed. Something she _needed_. Something she…she…

 

Hermione Granger blew out a breath in building frustration, running a shaking hand through the tangled curls fluttering in a flurry behind her, bouncing in springy ringlets to her frenzied pacing. What made it even more distressing was that she couldn’t even seem to pinpoint where her agitation—this, this sudden _desire_ to _do_ something—to retrieve, to have, to do—to—to—she didn’t know!—came from. She didn’t know why, she didn’t even know what she should be doing! She only knew that she had to. She just _had_ to!

 

_Had to, what?_ She thought furiously, the plush carpet under her bare feet beginning to wear, her simple periwinkle nightgown whipping about her calves restlessly, her back and forth pace never faltering. A check and re-check of her To-Do lists for the next two weeks, and then for the next month, having counted off a number of things on it already, had given her no relief from her—from this indefinable anxiety she was feeling, this madness.

 

_What was wrong with her?_ She’d never been this wound up since the war, and even then she looked the perfect picture of serenity compared to how frazzled and jittery she was now. She felt so out of control, so out of touch with herself, that it was enough to make her uneasy. Even her magic was responding to her disquiet in erratic waves of bubbling energy, sizzling around her like static.

 

Just then, for no apparent reason, her anxiousness swelled, the restiveness she felt mounting, causing her heart to race at a rapid rate and cold sweat to profusely suffuse her skin. The magic leaking out of her thickened, coalesced before crackling audibly, rumbling out like rolling thunder.

 

Hermione inhaled sharply, looking at the air around her with apprehension creasing her feminine features. Her agitation grew, becoming tangible, pulsating…

 

Her magic roiled unsteadily, almost violently.

 

Crookshanks yowled in displeasure.

 

_Crookshanks_! Hermione gasp and reared back in surprise as if snapped out of a daze, whipping her head to the right just in time to see her aging familiar dart under the plump pillows thrown haphazardly across her queen-sized bed in a vain attempt to shield himself from the threatening atmosphere simmering around the bedroom.

 

_Merlin_ , just what in heaven’s name was _happening_?

 

This was getting completely out of hand. Whatever was causing her to become so distraught was affecting her magic to dangerous levels.

 

_Easy, Hermione, easy._ Shaken, she forced herself to release a tremulous breath, trying valiantly to settle herself before she distressed her cat into a frenzy, too.

 

Padding silently on bare feet towards the rumpled bed, she climbed into it and reached for the agitated feline, pulled him onto her lap and ran her fingers through his downy fur soothingly.

 

"I’m sorry, Crooks," she murmured quietly despite the fact that she lived alone, crooning placating words to the edgy feline until he was purring contentedly under her stroking hands. She smiled, endeared.

 

Thankfully, it seemed like it was just what she needed; the faint rumbling the demanding half-Kneazle was pleasurably emitting casting a calming effect on her as well, the tension in her muscles easing enough for her to relax against the lush softness of her bedspread. Taking advantage of the momentary respite she was somehow granted, Hermione urged herself to concentrate on breathing evenly, allowing herself to settle more comfortably on the bed, willing her heart to sync its beating to her cat’s lazy vibrations.

 

The irregular flow of magic weaved to a steady halt, floating like the gently cresting waves of the ocean after a furious storm.

 

She sighed in relief, feeling suddenly exhausted to the marrow of her bones, drained. She was still a little wound up, though, still slightly too taut at the edges to truly give herself over to her sudden fatigue, but at least she could breathe easily now.

 

Breathing easier meant she could think, and think clearly at that—something she hadn’t been able to do for the last half-hour or so now since she’d been woken up from a rather peaceful slumber by the debilitating feeling of…of _needing_ , _seeking…of_ completing…of something completely inexplicable filling her very being. A feeling that had escalated with each second she stayed in bed in mounting confusion, her prolonged inaction becoming almost agonising.

 

_Maybe it was the stress,_ she thought, troubled, her eyes drifting shut as she propped herself against a pillow, unwilling to give in to another…breakdown? She ran a trembling hand through her hair, snagging against the wiry curls halfway through. _Or jetlag._

But, no. She knew that wasn’t it, and she couldn’t lie to herself no matter how much she wished it were true. She couldn’t chalk it up to jetlag because she’d been back in England a little over a week already; surely it was enough time to get used to the time difference there was between London and Papua New Guinea. And she knew it couldn’t be due to stress, either, because ever since her arrival, her superior had been adamant that she take the fortnight off, insisting that she get herself settled down first before she threw herself back into the hectic fray that was the Department of International Magical Cooperation.

 

So what was _wrong_ with her?

 

She didn’t know.

 

She didn’t know but she could think of no other logical explanation, no matter how hard she tried, that would sufficiently justify what had just occurred—what was still occurring to her.

 

Hermione frowned, deeply disturbed by her experience, her mind quickly flashing through the week since her return: her arrival after the long aeroplane ride with Terry (who had managed to persuade her into boarding one, not having ridden one himself yet and thought it was his chance to see and experience some of the "Muggle innovations" he’d heard so much about), whose excitement during the whole ordeal was as palpable and as wearing as a five-year-old in a sweets shop had worn on her nerves; the brief visit with her parents, who’d fussed over her endlessly like they were wont to do; moving into the lovely new flat she had leased with Susan; the welcoming committee and the subsequent gatherings that followed (both the formal—which consisted of her colleagues at the Ministry—and the informal ones—which had mostly consisted of a few friends) in order to commemorate her homecoming after three years of being away; the flurry of reporters clamouring after her; her awkward, and rather stilted, reunion with Harry and Ron, and then her nasty run-in with Ginny Weasley…

 

This time, a tired sigh escaped her dry, chapped lips, the weary hand entangled in her hair slipping to her temple, massaging into the spot where she could feel an unwanted migraine beginning to build in pounding cruelty.

 

_Perhaps it was stress, after all._ Not the physical kind, but certainly of the emotional variety. Looking back on it now, she marvelled at her own fortitude. Merlin only knew how trying these last few days had been for her. It was almost enough to make her want to take another unpleasant and discomfiting 18-hour or so flight on an electronically operated hunk of metal traveling at an alarming speed through space while it was unreliably suspended a few hundred feet in the air.

 

She winced at the reminder. God, that had almost been worse than riding a broom. Almost. It had still been awful though.

 

_Circe, it_ had _been a busy week._

 

Before she could delve further into her thoughts, however, a gentle tapping staccato against her bay windows startled Hermione out of her thoughts. Curiously, she turned to see a ruffled looking barn owl flapping outside the porthole, a roll of parchment tied to one of its talons with a red ribbon. Setting her drowsing cat on the bed, she moved to let the night messenger fly in. Only when the owl had found itself a satisfactory perch on top of her dresser and stuck its leg out to her dutifully did she reach for the missive it delivered, confusion already marring her brow.

 

While it was not an uncommon occurrence for a witch to have an owl fly to her home bearing a letter or other, Hermione usually didn’t get owls so late at night it was actually early the next morning already, if one wanted to be technical. A closer inspection also told her that the bird in question was not a Ministry issued one. Curious, that.

 

Maybe it was Luna, asking her to go Umgubular Slashkilter hunting with her again…

 

Wrinkling her nose at the thought, she began to unfurl her note. The strange things that woman got up to. Although, if it was an invitation from Luna, Hermione thought she just might take her up on her offer. It would, after all, be a welcome distraction from her puzzling predicament. _Anything_ would be a welcome distraction from her unfathomable anxiety at this point.

 

It wasn’t from Luna, though.  It was from… “ _Hagrid_?”

 

A finely shaped eyebrow rose. Now this was even more curious than receiving odd requests from her eccentric friend. The note looked to be brief and clearly scrawled in haste.

 

She read:

 

 

_Dear Hermione,_

_Terribly sorry for calling you out so late at night, but centaurs have come to my cottage wanting to meet you. They’re here waiting for you right now. Won’t leave until they speak with you, they say._

_I reckon you should come to Hogwarts right now. Say it's something important that couldn't wait. Centaurs never come this close to the castle grounds without good reason._

_Come quickly. I will wait for you at the castle gates._

_Hagrid_

 

Hermione stared at the words scribbled across the crisp parchment in her hands, a single word stood out above more than the rest.

 

_Centaurs._ Her brow furrowed in bewildered confusion. What in the world could _centaurs_ want with her? What could be so important that they couldn’t wait for a more acceptable hour in the morning to meet with her? And more importantly— _centaurs?!_

 

Her teeth scraped along her bottom lip worriedly. Hagrid was probably right, however. Centaurs made it a point to never interact with humans, so whatever it is they wanted from her, it was urgent enough for them to see it fit to approach unwanted territory, exposing themselves to danger, regardless that Hogwarts was probably the safest place in the whole country for both human and creature alike. For something like that, Hermione knew she could, of course, do nothing but oblige. Besides, she had wanted a distraction, hadn’t she?

 

She glanced back at her unmade bed, the peach blankets thrown carelessly aside when she’d jumped out of it in a fit of nerves, her familiar curled up in a peaceful orange ball of fur in the middle of the haphazard mess. Well, it wasn’t like she could go back to sleep any time soon anyway.

 

_Best get to it, then._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be a hell of a lot longer, but I figured I’d update faster if I wrote shorter chapters, rather than give you a footlong in one go and let you wait forever, which, with me, is often the case. 
> 
> In any case, you won’t have to wait too long for the next chapter! Ciao!


	3. Chapter Two - Hickory Dickory Dock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who reviewed and added this story to their alerts and favourites. I can’t tell you how happy I am to know that this story is so well received. So really, thank you! 
> 
> This chapter is a little rough around the edges, as this hasn’t been properly edited yet, so let me know if you see any obvious mistakes. I know the first few chapters were confusing but I promise you, all will be explained as the story progresses!
> 
> I hope you like this new chapter and please review! Reviews are my greatest source of motivation, so the more I get, the faster I’ll likely write! ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**2:15 AM, 21st March 2004**

**Friday, Spring Equinox**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland**

 

A few minutes later, she was off in but a step and a faint pop.

 

Apparating to Hogwarts was quick and dizzying, but an elated smile didn’t fail to light up on Hermione’s slightly worn features—she could do nothing about the dark circles under her eyes, but she was pleased that the wrestling match she had with her hair had been successful at least, managing to tame it enough to stuff it in a practical bun at the base of her head—when she saw the hulking figure of her very own friendly giant—well, half-giant—standing in front of the formidable gates of Hogwarts.

 

“Hagrid!” she greeted just as she was swept in a warm, friendly hug. “Oh!” she gasped and then laughed when her feet actually lifted off of the ground.

 

“Hermione!” welcomed Hagrid warmly, setting her down gently to the ground. “Nice ter see yeh, lass!”

 

“Hullo, Hagrid! It’s wonderful to see you, too!”

 

And it truly was.

 

The years after the war had been fraught with grief and devastation. Everyone had been so busy trying to move on, to pick up the pieces and rebuild what was left of the debris and ashes, herself among them, that it had left her with no time to visit Hogwarts. Indeed, she hadn’t seen Hagrid since even before she had left for her assignment three years ago, and the sight of her friend, with his scraggly beard and wild mane warmed her heart.

 

"Thank yeh fer comin’, Hermione. I couldn’ say no ter the centaurs. An’ they refused ter leave until I called fer yeh.”

 

It was then that her smile turned into a bemused, upturned one. Her eyebrows knitted together worriedly. "Hagrid, is everything all right?"

 

The large half-man bent down to retrieve the lantern he’d set to the ground beside him and then shrugged. “I don’ have a clue meself. They jus suddenly arrived, beatin’ on my door in the middle o’ the night, demandin’ that I summon yeh.” He turned and gestured for her to follow just as Fang, his ever faithful companion, stood from where he sat a couple of steps behind him.

 

“And you’ve no idea at all why they asked for me specifically?” Hermione fell into step beside him, silently casting a warming charm on them both to protect them from the cool sting of the night air.

 

Hagrid sent her a grateful smile but shook his head in answer to her question, his dark shaggy hair, flying about. “Haven’ the faintest.” Then he laid a large comforting hand on her shoulder, “But don’ yeh worry, Hermione. Firenze has told me they aren’ out ter harm yeh, or I never would have called yeh out here.” He nodded his head towards the direction of the Forbidden Forest. “Can’ be ter sure what those centaurs are thinkin’, but I know they’re an honourable lot.”

 

“I know. Thank you, Hagrid.” Hermione returned, touched by his protectiveness and loyalty. Then her finely shaped eyebrows once again scrunched up in bafflement. Knowing that they meant her no harm hardly answered her earlier question, and it seemed her former Hogwarts professor had no clue either.

 

So, really, _what on earth could centaurs want with me?_ After the war, the centaurs had returned to their territory in the Forbidden Forest, Professor Firenze with them, and although it was reported that they had come to resent humans less since then, they had still made it a point to avoid human contact. But now she was apparently being _summoned_ , and it was nothing if not extraordinary.

 

She had certainly never interacted with any these last few years. Veelas, yes, when she’d been in France. Some giants, and even a few vampires in Romania and nymphs in Greece, but apart from her fifth year and at the Final Battle six years ago, she hadn’t been in close proximity with a half-man, half-horse beast at all.

 

Suffice to say, she absolutely didn’t know what to think.

**.:oOo:.**

 

Walking through the empty grounds of Hogwarts again was like taking an unwanted stroll down Memory Lane, memories of long past assaulting her with nostalgia, poignant and bittersweet. Hagrid’s rambling faded to the background as flashes of a young girl with untameable curly hair running around in a constant flurry of school work and banding together with two other teenage boys against all the odds marked every cornerstone of the castle. Memories of innocence, of pain, of friendship, etched in every cobblestone, the lingering whispers of laughter and tears stark against the resonant echoes of her footfalls.

 

Sighing, Hermione shook her head against the sudden bout of melancholy she felt and tried to turn her thoughts to the place that had been her home for the better part of six years, knowing full well that she didn’t need the added stress right now. The restlessness she felt and the roiling of her magic may have mellowed since she’d arrived at the school, but it was still there, simmering under the surface. The last thing she wanted was to get accidental bouts of magic at twenty-four, after all. To lose control of her magic after everything she’d worked so hard to achieve would just be embarrassing.

_In any cas_ e, she thought in a pointed effort to steer her thoughts to the direction she wanted it to go, the trip through the castle was brisk and silent, but it was enough for her to see that the cavernous bastion that was Hogwarts had changed little since she’d been there, fighting for her life with all the others that had sided with the Light. Even when it had been rebuilt in the wake of the Final Battle’s destruction, every pillar, every battlement had been restored to where it had once been, returned to its rightful place.

 

Headmistress McGonagall had been quite unstoppable during the school’s reconstruction, forging on with a steel determination Hermione had come to admire. She had been resolved to restore the school to its former glory in as little time as possible, and with the help of willing volunteers and, of course, a fancy bit of magic, it had only taken under six months for the school to be functional again, ready to receive its magical learners with open arms.

 

“There they are,” Hagrid pointed out, his gruff murmur penetrating through her sentimental musings.

 

And all too soon, the Forbidden Forest came into view. And there, waiting by the shadows of the treeline stood three half-horse warriors in patient yet proud attention. Hermione took a deep bracing breath as she and Hagrid approached, her steps faltering in uncertainty. She forced her feet forward, one step after another, unwilling to admit that she was a little intimidated by the sight of the regal creatures of the Forbidden Forest, a feeling that only seemed to intensify when, upon sensing her approach, different pairs of startlingly bright eyes settled on her with such unwavering intensity.

 

Unsurprisingly, it was Firenze who stepped forward to greet her, a bow of respect on the slight tilt of his head. "Hermione Granger," he greeted solemnly, looking down at her with brilliant blue eyes, his shock of white–blond hair only seeming to emphasise its luminosity. “Thank you for coming to see us.”

 

“Firenze,” she greeted with a small smile. “I must admit, your request to see me came as a surprise. You called for me?”

 

The centaur, however, only shook his head in answer. “I cannot answer you. I am only to deliver you to our colony, Hermione Granger. Come,” he turned round, and looked down at her expectantly, “climb on my back. We have no time to waste.”

 

The young witch blinked up at him. “I’m sorry...you want me to _what_?”

 

The former Divination professor titled his head to the side and reiterated, “Climb onto my back.”

 

A small pregnant pause settling in the wake of his words.

 

Then Hermione sputtered. “You can't be serious!” She turned to the towering half-giant standing silently beside her, her disbelief evident. “He can't be serious!”

 

Hagrid could only shrug and scratch his bushy beard. “I reckon he is, Hermione; centaurs don' exactly know how to tell jokes.”

 

“He is correct,” Firenze nodded in agreement, the bafflement written across his furrowed brows proving exactly how serious he was. “I am not in the business of...joke telling.”

 

A small hand came up to massage her aching temple and she sighed. Right, so. They wanted her to ride a _bleeding_ _centaur._ Right into the Forbidden Forest!

 

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” she finally muttered as she stepped forward and climbed onto the mythical creature’s back awkwardly, and not without some considerate assistance from Hagrid, bless him.

_Merlin,_ this was, by far, the one of the strangest night of her life!

 

**.:oOo:.**

 

Moments later, Hermione found herself deep within the infamous dark forest, riding astride a galloping centaur as he and his companions tore through the woods at alarming speed; she could do naught but hold on for dear life. This was the furthest she's ever been inside the Forbidden Forest, further than Harry and Ron, or even the Marauders, had ever gone before. The shadows and the mist hung like curtains over the terrain, dark and thick, the silver sheen of the moon casting only patches of light around them. Eerie sounds of creatures unknown sounded off the trees in a disconcerting medley that set her heart pounding, echoing through the leaves and bouncing off branches.

 

During the day, the forest was intimidating. At night, it was certainly frightening. But here, deep within its bowels, it was downright terrifying.

 

Firenze must have sensed her trepidation in the way she dug her fingers into his shoulders, her grip vise-like, because he slowed to a trot–his cohorts echoing his movements–and cast her a sideways glance over his shoulder. “You are frightened.”

 

It was not a question but an observation.

 

Hermione met the magical being’s astonishing azure gaze and cleared her throat awkwardly, embarrassed. “Er, just a tad.” She shrugged, letting her gaze dart nervously about them and truthfully confessed, “This is the farthest I've ever gone into the Forbidden Forest. I'm also well aware that not all creatures here have been documented; I wouldn't know how to defend myself against any of them should anything ever happen in here, even if I do have my wand.”

 

“Hmph! Humans! Ignorant as always,” the dark-haired centaur to their right scoffed, voicing his thoughts for the first time, gruff and unfriendly, his aversion to her and her kind clear as day. Hermione looked over at him, and he gave her a dark gimlet stare, piercing black eyes glittering like polished jewels. “You insult us with your insinuation that we cannot defend ourselves.”

 

When she began to protest that it wasn't so, the centaur carried on, speaking over her with words dripping with disdain. “The forest is our home, it is of the earth and of magic. It is home to all magical beings, but if you cannot even recognise it, then you are not even worthy of the magic you so proudly wield.”

 

“Bane.” Firenze chided, shooting his fellow warrior a look of warning. “It would do you well to hold your tongue. Hermione Granger is our guest.”

 

“Bah! Centaurs have no business inviting humans onto our lands in the first place!” came the surly reply.

 

“We do if it is the heavens that have sent for her.”

 

At those words, the sole human in their parade gawked, distracted for a minute from her uneasiness at being so defenceless deep inside the enchanted woods, unable to quite believe her ears, more lost now than ever–a feeling she did not at all appreciate. She knew that centaurs were natural seers and that they foretold fate through the planets and the stars, and though she thought Divination was a load of dragon dung, only to be taken with a grain of salt, she also recognised that this was an ability only unique to their species.

 

The heavens sent for her… _Did that mean there was yet another prophecy?_

 

Hermione opened her mouth to voice that very question, but was interrupted this time by the other centaur, red-haired and red-bearded, in their company, his tone dulcet and doleful against the cool night breeze. “We have arrived,” he stated as they cleared the trees and onto the edge of a wide clearing bathed in moonlight.

 

The witch gasped in wonder, struck speechless by the sight of the night sky awash with stars.

 

It was a breathtaking sight.

 

"You are Hermione Granger?" a deep voice spoke, breaking through reverie, and it was only then that Hermione noticed another centaur gliding imperiously towards them, his shoulders thrown back proudly. Hermione could only look up at him in barely disguised awe. She could only surmise that he was the colony’s leader, and he was by far the most intimidating thing she had ever seen in her life; authoritative in his sure gait, his expression as smooth and unreadable as granite. He looked upon her with glittering eyes of coal. "I am grateful to you for answering our summons,” he said with a slight incline of his head. “I am called Magorian. I am the chief of this colony."

 

Pulling herself together, the smaller witch slid off Firenze as gracefully as she could and cleared her throat in an effort to exude the professional persona she often displayed at work, drawing upon the considerable diplomatic skills she had acquired when dealing with sentient creatures not of her race. She returned the introductions with a polite bob of her head. "Good evening to you, Magorian. I must admit that I am surprised to be summoned so late by your colony. Firenze has mentioned that you wished to speak with me of something important."

 

Magorian nodded in affirmation. "We know that it is customary for humans to be asleep at this time of night, but it could not wait." The centaur then passed a glance round the three half-humans behind her, all three of them standing as stoic and as immovable as mountains, before his steady black gaze fixed upon her once more, his luminous eyes glowing like the priciest onyx. "We called you at the request of our brethren from a time that which will be, to deliver to you what the stars have writ to be re-written."

 

Eyebrows furrowing in punctuation to the incomprehension that was plastered evidently across her face, she asked hesitantly, "Your…brethren?" She didn’t know any other centaur except Firenze who taught briefly at Hogwarts. She—

 

She paused.

 

_Our brethren from a time that which will be._

 

Her eyes widened in sudden understanding and disbelief. "You—you can’t mean—" she gasped.

 

But before she could gather any of her staggering thoughts, however, the centurion chief stepped back. And right in the middle of the clearing she saw a female centaur with hair the colour of spun gold kneeling in the grass. The half-horse maid was smaller than her male counterparts, with skin that reflected the moonlight. Their gazes met and even from afar, Hermione could see her eyes of bright sapphire. It was rare to see a female centaur, she knew. Rarely do they ever leave their territory.

 

But it was not her presence that dumbfounded Hermione most. It was the child sitting amicably beside her, her equine body curled protectively around them.

 

A human child.

 

"Sweet Morgana!" she heard herself breathe in astonishment.

 

Magorian couldn't possibly mean that…

 

That child…if what Magorian said was true, was from the future. _Destined to rewrite the course of history._ How far into the future, she didn't know, but from an analytical mind such as hers and from the fact that she had once been a time-traveller herself, to come face-to-face with one that was, in essence, out of their time (even if just a few hours or even weeks) was simply extraordinary.

 

"But how did he end up here, in centaur territory? How did he end up being with your brethren in the first place? How could a little child know about how to time-travel at all?" The flurry of unanswered questions flew through her head in a chaotic frenzy, though her eyes remained transfixed on the child–a little boy with dark unruly hair fluttering against the cool breeze–animatedly talking with the centaur mare, his thick dark cloak wrapped securely around them, obscuring their features.

 

"On the first hour of Ostra, when magic is most potent and the line between time and space is non-existent, the heavens unravelled,” Magorian answered as he turned his gaze heavenward, his expression inscrutable, “and what was once a fate sealed and certain became shrouded in clouds uncertainties. Then the forest shook and in its wake that human foal appeared among us, bleeding with magic."

 

“But...what does this have to do with me?”

 

The colony leader pinned her with an intense stare. “It was _your_ magic, witch.”

 

_My…_ Her stunned gaze snapped towards the man-beast so quickly her neck could have cracked. " _What_?" she struggled for words, unable to comprehend what this all meant. She’d never been so lost before.

 

It was then that the female centaur stood, the movement catching Hermione’s attention once more. The young woman watched as she held out her hand for her human charge, watched as the mare spoke words she could not hear, and watched as she swept a hand and looked over in their direction.

 

The small child followed the fragile creature’s iridescent gaze, and his a bright pair of hazel eyes lit up with joy at the sight of her. He ran towards her, as fast as his little legs could carry him, much to Hermione’s surprise, his cloak billowing behind him in the wind.

 

But nothing— _nothing_ floored her more than the words he shouted in excited delight.

 

“ _Mummy! Mummy! You’we back!_ ”

 

**_.:oOo:._ **

 


	4. Chapter Three - Little Boy Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back with a new chapter! Thank you all for waiting so patiently! I know I said I’d be updating more frequently, but I honestly didn’t expect April to kick my arse. I won’t promise any scheduled updates, but I do intend to finish this story, if it’s the last thing I do!
> 
> On that note, I want to thank everyone who read, reviewed and added Pitter-Patter of Little Feet (and me!) to their Favourites and Alerts. They mean a lot to me. I actually reread reviews before I begin writing so I can summon the energy I need to write in spite of life getting in the way, so thank you!
> 
> As a note of warning, the pacing of this story might be too slow for some, but I don’t like my stories to sound rushed. If slow action is not your cup of tea, this might not be the fic for you. There will be a lot of introspection in this story, as character perspective and development is important to me (so much so that I can get carried away, so you might have to warn me about that, haha). Fear not, however, in a chapter or two, our favourite hero will finally show up, and he’s in for a surprise (and I’m pretty sure the lot of you already know what, or rather who, that surprise is)! ;)
> 
> So, without further ado, read on, enjoy and tell me what you think! A few of you have given me some new ideas on where to go with this story, so I’m curious (and excited) to see what else you’ll inspire me of writing!

“Mummy, Mummy, wook! Wook!” the mysterious little tot called out as he came to a stumbling halt in front her, his enormous hazel eyes shining up at her in the luminescent glow of the full moon, his smile so bright it shone like the stars twinkling unerringly above. He reached out and tugged at her hastily donned robes with one small fist, his other hand extended up towards her, proudly showing off the small pale-blue gemstone laying on his tiny palm, his eagerness clear as day. “A stone, Mummy! Wook!”

But for all the joy and innocence that radiated off of his tiny form, all the bewildered young witch could do was goggle down at him in return, mouth unattractively agape, eyes wide as saucers.

_ Mummy…  _ Hermione thought, suddenly feeling faint, dazed and more than a little overwhelmed.  _ He called me Mummy... _

To say that Hermione Granger was astounded and rendered utterly speechless was a  _ massive _ understatement.

This...was probably the most surreal night of her life. More unreal than the day she’d swam with nymphs and learned their secrets, and yes, even more unimaginable than that night she’d dined and wined with vampires. Logically, considering what she did for a living, nothing should come as a shock to her by now. But somehow, to suddenly come face-to-face with a time-travelling child— _ her _ time-travelling child, to be exact;  _ someone who didn’t even exist yet! _ —was more than she’d bargained for.

“ _ Mummy! _ ”

_ Bloody hell! _

The little boy, however, was undeterred by her unresponsiveness, obviously too young to understand the turmoil roiling inside her, and persisted at tugging on her robes insistently, demanding a response.

“Er,” the so-called Brightest Witch of Her Age, for the first time in quite a long time, floundered, snapping out of her shocked stupor.  _ Right.  _ She had to pull herself together. She knew this wasn’t the right time to lose her head; there would be time for that, at a more appropriate place, with a more appropriate audience, later. Right now, she had to deal with the matter at hand with as cool a head as she could manage, because  _ dear, sweet Merlin she had a son! _

Or will have one. In the future.

In the far,  _ far _ future.

_ Oh, god. _

And so, with a deep bracing breath, she leaned down and tried to lace as much enthusiasm in her voice as she could muster, trying to sound just as delighted as the time-travelling toddler seemed to be—“Er, yes! That’s—that’s a really nice gemstone you have there!”—which, admittedly, fell just a little flat to her ears...

“Yeah,” the happy tyke, fortunately, remained unphased by her sub-par acting and chirped with an emphatic nod of his head, his short arm still outstretched towards her. “Fow you, Mummy!”

“For me?” she exclaimed, affecting an exaggerated expression of wonder and delight at his unexpected gift, and a soft smile tugged at the edges of her lips, warmth suddenly blossoming in her chest. She had had very little experience with small children, having been an only child with no younger cousins to speak of, but the sight of the babe’s round cherubic features simply pulled at her heartstrings, the maternal instincts she didn’t know she had surfacing. “Thank you, that's very sweet of you, darling,” she murmured gratefully as she knelt to the ground and moved to accept his thoughtful little gift.

The moment her hand brushed his, however, an unexpected shock coursed through her entire body, coiling from the palm of her hand right up to the core of her very being. Her already erratic magic leaked out of her, expanded and weaved in chaotic waves around them both. Then her breath caught in her throat just as a brilliant light exploded, enveloping the clearing and all its occupants in a sudden wash of blinding white.

“Wh-what—” she started but then gasped, startled, though not from any pain, but from the abnormal feel of her magic snapping and crackling like electricity all around her, humming against her skin and through the air. It vibrated, swelled, before finally subsiding into the nothingness, just as the bright light faded into forest’s moonlit landscape, as if it had never been.

And then…there was just silence…

“Mummy?” came a scared little whimper.

Warily peering into the still night, Hermione looked down to find the poor child pressed up against her chest, his chubby hands clutching tightly at the fabric of her robes. She took a deep steadying breath, her heart galloping a mile a minute, her palms clammy and stiff. With tenderly whispered assurances, she wrapped her arms around the little one’s quivering form, running gentle hands up and down his back comfortingly, before she looked up at the centaurs towering above them, all looking equally perturbed, yet seemingly unshaken.

“What...what just happened?” she asked them softly, voice thin and breathless. She had absolutely no idea what was going on anymore. In fact, she had probably lost all hope of making any sense of the entire thing the moment she accepted Hagrid's invitation to meet with the centaurs. All she was sure of was her heart was beating loudly in her ears and she could feel the muted buzz of her magic dancing against the surface of her skin.

Her magic... _ which had all but combusted. _

She closed her eyes and took another shaky breath, afraid of what that meant, of the loss of control would entail. Tentatively, she reached into her magical core in an attempt to figure out the cause of its sudden instability and taper it before it got any worse. Anymore uncontrolled outbursts of magic from her and it could become fatal, that much she was sure. And then...she stilled, her brows furrowing in perplexity. The chaotic ebb and flow of her magic was...settling now, oddly enough. After all that unexpected and disconcerting display of unchecked power, her magical essence was suddenly levelling off back to its normal cadence...now more stable and more tranquil than it had been all night, undulating like the mellow rhythm of the waves after a fierce storm.

“It is undone,” Magorian’s deep baritone rang out, breaking through the sudden hush that befell them all, sombre and final.

Hermione turned to the centurion chief and found his own enigmatic stare fixed skyward, the secrets of the stars open to his scrutiny. “What is undone?” When he neither spoke nor moved, she shifted her gaze to the other intelligent beasts around her, finally focusing on the one more forthcoming of knowledge than most of his kind, a small part of her hating that they knew something she didn't. “What's undone, Firenze?”

“Time, Hermione Granger.” Startling azure orbs, piercing and intense, alighted her form, and the said centaur said, “Time is undone.” Then he moved towards her with a gentle beckoning sway of his hand. “Come. It is time for you and the your foal to take leave of this forest. The night grows darker yet.”

The young witch opened her mouth to protest, rebelling against the idea of leaving the forest with more questions than answers, but the tone of finality wrapped in the chieftain’s voice allowed for no more arguments from her. “Go, witch,” Magorian ordered, the steel in his words resolute, “The heavens have nothing more to say this night.”

“But Magorian—”

“Mummy,” her young charge piped up with a mighty yawn, hands rubbing eyes heavy with drowsiness. “I'm sweepy…”

Hermione heaved a sigh of both reluctance and irritation, a dissatisfied frown creasing her displeased features, knowing she had no choice but to let the matter go— _ for now _ . Centaurs were cryptic creatures in nature, and she understood that trying to pry anything out of them was ultimately wasted effort. For all that she understood them and advocated for their rights, however, it didn’t mean she had to like their innate sense of ambiguity one bit.

**_.:oOo:._ **

It took Hermione a while to realise that they were not going in the direction from which they came, and though she knew deep down that her safety was no cause for concern in the presence of centaurs this night, she'd been so lost in her thoughts that the moment she noticed they were trudging their way deeper  _ in _ to the Forbidden Forest rather than out of it, she’d nearly fallen off of Firenze’s broad equine back, eliciting a disgruntled moan from the small bundle sleeping soundly against her chest, a drowsy snuffling protest at being so rudely jarred. Looking down at the child she held in her arms, she couldn't help but smile at how angelic he looked, with his dark unruly curls that shuffled against the breeze, his round rosy cheeks, and the pert button nose, that she just knew he got from her…

Hermione started at the thought, surprised at her own acceptance of this new fact, though her logic could tell her exactly why it was prudent to do so in the first place. Still, it was more than a little strange to think of him as her son—for that is, in fact, who he was, even if she wasn't technically the one who bore him... _ at least not yet _ —and she saw no reason to doubt the centaurs’ words.

_ Although… _

“Firenze?” her voice broke through the pensive silence that had enveloped them, punctuated only by the rhythmic clopping of purposeful hooves and the solemn rustle of leaves. “How did you know to call for me?” she asked with undisguised curiosity. “Magorian said that this child bled with my magic, but how did you know it was _my magic_? Surely you can't know all the magical signatures of all the wizards and witches in Wizarding Britain.”

“It is simply that the forest told us,” was Firenze’s guileless response, uttered without any inflection, just a statement of fact.

Her interest piqued, the witch upon his back tilted her head to the side, the academic inside her already churning through what he had said and making room for more knowledge to be had. “And how did it do that?”

The former Hogwarts professor spared her a long sideways glance over his shoulder, not a pause in his stride. “Do you know why enchanted forests such as this exist, Hermione Granger?”

At this leading question, the young woman straightened in her seat, an answer at the ready, relieved now to finally be in a territory that made sense to her. “Enchanted forests,” she began, “or indeed any type of magical ecosystem, have high concentrations of magic that make it perfect for various types of magical creatures to flourish in the living conditions it offers.” In fact, this was one of the guiding principles that her research on the origins of magic for the Department of International Magical Cooperation banked on. “That is, all magical creatures, beasts and beings alike, though unable to control the raw essence of magic in the environment like the magical folk can, have magical cores that respond well to places where magic is most potent.

“While wizards and witches can control the magic around them based on intent, magical creatures respond to and, to a degree, control it on a more instinctive level.” She paused then, mulling over her own explanation before a finely shaped brow lifted up, inquisitive brown orbs fixing upon Firenze’s back, as if she could peer into his mind. “Are you saying you knew to call for me because of your connection to the forest?”

“That is correct,” Firenze nodded in answer, his calm voice matching his steady gait. “The forest knows because it is home, because it is of magic and because of the earth.”

Hermione let out a thoughtful hum at that, chewing over what her half-human escort had just imparted. She was fairly sure she understood what he was saying. Magical dwellings, due to constant magical exposure, were more often than not, semi-sentient. It would make sense that the centaurs, or any of the creatures who call the forest home, would be able to communicate in some way with the enchanted woods.

Knowing this enlightening bit of information however, though helpful to her research, brought her no closer to uncovering the real mystery she had at hand, and she highly doubted the centaurs, for all their undisputed knowledge of the future, would—or could—provide her with the answers to the questions she really wanted to ask. How did a child who looked no older than two or three years old get sent so far back in time? By whom? And  _ why _ ? How was it even possible for him to exist in a time-stream where he had no magical imprint to hold him down at all, considering he had yet to even be conceived?

Heaving yet another frustrated sigh, she resolved to find out what exactly was going on as soon as possible. After all, if there was anything Hermione Granger hated most, it was not having all of the answers.

Long moments passed in silence after that, with Hermione lost inside her head, contemplating on the next best course of action, the sound of soft breathing as the baby dozed against her an oddly calming lullaby, and it was only when her equine escort came to a halt that she surfaced from her daze.

“This is where we part, young witch,” Firenze announced smoothly, before he carefully lowered to his knees so his riders could dismount without difficulty.

Said witch dismounted gingerly, unused to the weight of the child she was carrying but was careful not to jostle him awake. Once safely and steadily on the ground, fallen leaves crunching beneath her practical boots, she looked about, taking stock of her surroundings and surmising that they were now standing at the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, though the looming presence of Hogwarts was curiously absent beyond the trees. Instead, she gazed out into a quiet dirt road that led to a familiar sleepy village, resting at peace and awash with the calming glow of moonlight.

“Hogsmeade,” she breathed in surprise, eyes flying immediately up to the former Hogwarts Professor. “Is this where the forest leads off to at the other side of Hogwarts?”

“Sometimes,” answered the magical creature in his typical vague manner that was seriously beginning to annoy her.

At the curious look she sent his way, the wondering lift of a shaped eyebrow prompting a proper response, Firenze moved to stand beside her, his own glowingly unreadable gaze sweeping over the peaceful hamlet nestled comfortably in the distance. “The forest vast and holds great power. It takes us wherever we want, and sometimes, it takes us wherever we need to go.”

Sentient and mystical forest, right. It would do her well to remember that. She nodded in understanding. There were more to centaurs and magical creatures in general than wizardkind realised, and Hermione can't help but wonder if the centaurs would be amenable to aiding her in her research…

_ But... _ that would have to wait another day. She had a more pressing and, not to mention, a child-sized mystery in her hands. She'll just have to remember to ask Hagrid to call them for—

_ “Hagrid!” _ She suddenly gasped, whipping around, just now remembering the current Hogwarts professor waiting for her safe return at his homey cottage. “He's waiting at Hogwarts!”

Firenze was quick to stay her concern with an expression as even as his voice. “Bane and Ronan have gone back to inform the groundskeeper. We thought it wise to be discreet in this matter.” He tilted his head towards her, a slight lift at the corner of his lips rendering the witch before him temporarily dumbstruck, so out of place was this rare show of humour. “I seem to recall the professors at Hogwarts grumbling about innate Hagrid’s inability to keep secrets,” then his luminous orbs drifted down to the youngling sleeping soundly in her arms, his countenance sobering once more, “and this secret is yours to tell, Hermione Granger.”

Hermione followed his sombre gaze to the slumbering toddler in her embrace, oblivious to the world around him, and wholeheartedly agreed, an intense desire to protect the little one welling up inside her with a ferocity that she knew should have alarmed her, but she also knew that whatever was going on required utmost discretion. If people found out she had (or will have) a son, everyone would have a field day, and she shuddered at the thought of the wrong sort getting wind of him being from the undisclosed future. No, this was one secret she would not willingly share, Firenze was right about that. She looked up at one of the wisest and noble beasts in the Forbidden Forest and nodded her thanks, a grateful smile gracing her lips. “Thank you, Firenze.”

The centaur tipped his head in return, an acknowledgement and a thanks, before slowly turning back to the thick of the woods, the rhythmic clopping of his hooves a solemn beat, as he began to fade from view, his parting words just as enigmatic as his race. “It is a common fate we share, Hermione Granger, and in that we are kindred hearts. Goodbye.”

**_.:oOo:._ **


	5. Chapter Four - All That Pretty Horses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Yes, I’m alive! And I have no excuse for not updating, except that life got in the way. I moved to a different country...and then lost all the files on this story after my flash drive got corrupted! Amazing, right? So, if anyone is still interested in reading this, thanks for your patience!
> 
> I actually wanted to give up on this — I didn’t want to have to rewrite everything I had previously written! But my prickly old muse wanted to pick it back up again, so here it is!
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter! I’m a bit rusty. This is also unbeta-ed and un-Brit-picked, so I apologise for any inconsistencies and grammatical mistakes.
> 
> Enjoy!

**21st March 2004**

**Kielder Forest, Northumberland**

 

It was still dark out when the team of Obliviators arrived, none of whom were too pleased to be called out on duty at such an ungodly hour; not when the first golden rays of the sun had yet to even graze the horizon, half of Western Europe likely still sound asleep.

 

But then, Connor Morris supposed as he watched his Memory Charm take hold of one of the campers in Kielder Forest, working at such odd hours were hardly uncommon for the people of his profession. Magical incidents could occur around Muggles at any time of the day, after all. Unexpected bursts of accidental magic, unexplained magical events, and stray magical creatures don’t exactly follow a fixed schedule. It made their work hours unconventional but necessary. And this business with Muggle campers running into a small herd of unicorns in the forest was no different.

 

With a resigned sigh, Connor turned to his teammate just in time to see her finish Obliviating the other Muggles, intent on wrapping things up and getting home, when a panicked cry broke through the silent rhythms of the woods around them, catching both Obliviators off-guard.

 

“Morris! Jones!” Fergus Ashby called out urgently as he burst through the brush and into the camping area, looking as pale and as horrified as they’d ever seen him, especially considering the stout man’s perpetually grumpy disposition. 

 

With surprise and concern drawn all over her angular features, Martha Jones asked worriedly, “What’s wrong, Ashby?” 

 

“What happened?” Connor demanded as he watched Fergus tremble in his boots with a perplexed frown. He’d never seen the other wizard so shaken before. Indeed, with how horrified he was acting, it was as if the man had just witnessed You-Know-Who rise from his very grave once again... 

 

_ Merlin banish the thought! _

 

“T-The unicorns…” Their portly colleague stammered in response, an unmistakable tremor in his voice. “They’re…they’re…” He halted, then shook his head, giving up on his words, and instead took a step back. “You need to see this.”

 

With icy dread trickling down both their spines, Connor shared an uneasy glance with Jones before they both followed their fellow Obliviator through the rows of trees, to the moonlit clearing where the unicorns had been reportedly found grazing, several hundred feet away from the camping site. 

 

When they had arrived, the squad had initially decided on dividing their duties amongst themselves and split up. Ashby and Johnson were to go on ahead and secure a perimeter for the unicorns, then they were supposed to notify the people from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, while Connor and Jones took care of Obliviating the trio of hikers that were camping in the area nearby — a pretty standard operation, nothing they hadn’t done before.

 

But as the Obliviators stepped onto the glade, the air reeking of dark magic and blood and  _ evil _ , what they saw was anything  _ but _ .

 

**_.:oOo:._ **

 

**21st March 2004**

**Churchill Gardens, Pimlico, London**

 

It was rather fortunate, Hermione later realised as she watched her friend smear a generous dollop of jam onto a sliced piece of muffin for the newest addition of their household, that Susan Bones was one of the most composed individuals she knew. Though often vivacious, her flatmate had always been the pragmatic sort, not one to be dramatic or hysterical — something that the young witch appreciated now more than ever. 

 

As it was, Susan had neither gasped nor scoffed at her in disbelief when she had stepped out of her room that morning with a chipper toddler in her arms and a declaration of motherhood on her lips, the slight wrinkle on the other woman’s brow the only evidence of her deep confusion. It was then, of course, followed by a detailed recounting of what had happened just a few short hours before, as they sorted themselves out for breakfast, and though a thousand different questions swirled behind her redheaded companion’s dark brown eyes, questions that not even Hermione was sure she could answer — yet — Susan had taken it all in stride.

  
  


“Good?” Susan asked brightly, a piece of buttered toast now in hand, a cup of tea on the other.

 

“Yeah!” The tiny tot sitting across from her nodded, jam smeared all over his cheeks and nose. “Muffins awe yummy!” 

 

“Yes, it is,” Hermione agreed with her own pleasant smile and took a casual sip of her tea. Now that Susan was properly oriented to her...extraordinary circumstances, it was finally time to get some proper answers. First thing’s first… “Darling, can you tell Auntie Susie your name again?” 

 

The raised eyebrow that Susan sent her way was telling, but there was just no way around it. Their little time-traveller had recognised Susan on sight, waving his hand and greeting her with an adorable grin, clearly incognizant of the fact that they weren’t the same people he knew. 

 

On the other hand, Hermione had taken his easy acceptance of her friend as a good indication that Susan was (or had been, will be) a constant part of their life in the future. The thought had pleased Hermione immensely. The young Bones heiress was one of her closest friends, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing yet another precious friendship.

 

Oblivious to their subtle exchange, the tyke was more than willing to oblige. “I’m Phiwip!”

 

_ Philip _ . His name was Philip. 

 

_ Greek _ , Hermione thought with a firm, satisfied nod, a secret grin tugging at her lips. If she had any doubts at all that he was a son that her future-self bore, his name being of Greek origin could pass as proof. 

 

It wasn’t a widely-known fact, but the Granger family had a tradition of giving their children Greek names, one that she was glad to know she had kept. Her great-grandfather had been a university professor of ancient civilization and had especially loved the Ancient Greeks. He’d named his children after their ancient gods and heroes, and the rest, as they say, was history.

 

“Philip, a lover of horses,” commented an amused Susan, eyes twinkling with humour. “How apropos, considering he came to you through a herd of half-horse men.” Before Hermione could respond to her observation, she turned to Philip and pressed a cheery question of her own. “What about your daddy’s name?”

 

Hermione coughed at those words, choking on her toast. She gasped, aghast. “Susan Bones!”

 

The elvish smile that tugged at the corners of the witch’s lips was pure mischief. “Don’t you want to know?”

 

“No!” she denied vehemently. She definitely didn’t!

 

...Did she? 

 

The truth was, Hermione had made a concentrated effort not to think about who his father was the entire night. The question had, of course, crossed her mind; she couldn’t have conceived Philip all on her own, after all, but she’d quickly brushed it off, as skittish of the answer as a young foal. It was information she wasn’t sure she was ready for. The thought that she might have found someone to have a child with seemed more revelatory than finding out that she had a son from an undisclosed future.

 

Said son, however, looked unperturbed, the answer coming to him as easily as pie. “It’s Daddy!”

 

“Yes, sweetie, but what about his name?” Susan asked patiently. Sending a glance at the frozen witch at the table, she changed tactics. “What does your mummy call him?”

 

The boy’s cherubic features crinkled in innocent befuddlement. Looking to the person he trusted most, he tilted his head towards his mother quizzically, his riotous raven curls swaying with his movement, then declared with the absolute confidence a self-assured toddler. “Daddy!”

 

Stumped, Susan pulled back into her seat, clearly dismayed even as her teasing expression melted into one of perplexity. “Er, okay. Good.”

 

Hermione sighed, equal parts relieved and disappointed at the same time, the nervous flurry in the pit of her stomach receding. Evidently, she was living with a no-good nosy busybody, but it also looked like little Philip was too young to identify what his dad’s given name was. This would mean that any complex questions about what happened last night would just fly over his head. 

 

_ Damn _ , she thought, frustrated. All she needed was a clue, a clue on where to begin looking for answers, and even that was proving to be difficult…

 

“You know, it’s possible that you married a foreigner.” Susan hummed pensively, picking her cup of tea again, unable to completely let go of the topic. “Or a muggle.”

 

“If I even married at all…” was the other witch’s immediate off-hand quip, her own teacup clasped delicately between her hands.

 

The redhead choked on her tea at that, spearing a glare at the smirking minx before her. “Tramp,” she retorted with no real sting, making the other woman laugh.

 

She would never admit it out loud, but Hermione was still unable to completely comprehend the complexity of wizarding society. On the one hand, the Wizarding World was quite progressive in their views of same-sex unions, something Muggles could certainly learn from, after all these years. In the eyes of the magical folk, loving someone of the same gender was of no real consequence. But be a single woman with a child out of wedlock and they were properly scandalised beyond comprehension. And though she knew Susan held no such prejudices or stringent conservative views, it was amusing to see her reflexive reaction to the idea. 

 

“Twamp!” Philip parroted with a giggle, beaming sunnily, immediately fascinated by the kind of reaction it had garnered. 

 

Surprised, the witches present exchanged another look, a pregnant pause of horrified realisation dawning over them.  _ Censorship _ . It was something they now needed in the household. 

 

Just then, Susan’s personal timepiece buzzed through her robe-pocket, the incessant vibrations intensifying with each passing second. She pulled it out, annoyed, the brass metal glinting in the sun peeking through the windows, and opened it's smooth surface.

 

**_“You're late!”_ ** it boomed in an hollow, imperious voice, even as the watch-face presented the actual time of the day:  _ 8:10 AM _ .

 

“Ah, shite!” cursed the Unspeakable. 

 

“Shite!” mimicked the time-traveller.

 

“Sweet Morgana,” the new mother sighed. 

 

This could take some getting used to...

 

**_.:oOo:._ **

  
  


**21st March 2004**

**Kielder Forest, Northumberland**

 

It was the work of dark magic — magic most evil and most foul. It had to be for someone to slaughter five innocent unicorns, their blood bathing the forest floor a sickening silver hue. The scent of death hung in the air like billowing curtains on a windy day, rot and decay seeping into the very earth, eating away at the meadow’s vibrance. Unicorn carcasses littered the ground in hapless disarray, mercilessly murdered — slaughtered and drained of all their magical essence.

 

It was a gruesome sight.

 

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” one of the Aurors deployed to enclose the perimeter said, his visage ashen and green at the edges.

 

Harry Potter couldn’t blame him. Neither had he. And though the horrific sight before them reminded him of that time he’d stumbled upon a half-dead Voldemort feeding on unicorn blood during his first year at the Forbidden Forest, the massacre that lay before him now was beyond sickening. A sense of foreboding settled in his gut, his own magic recoiling at the lingering traces of magic around him, dancing on his skin like creeping fingers that bled with malevolence. It felt grotesque, malicious... _ Evil _ .

 

When an urgent call from a team of panicked Obliviators had reached the Auror Office, Head Auror Dawlish had promptly deployed several Aurors to close off the crime scene to Muggles and Wizardfolk alike. Harry and his partner had then been called in to handle the case. While dead magical creatures were normally a task for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, five dead unicorns was an unprecedented occurrence. They were revered beasts, after all, protected by the Ministry, and it was against wizarding law to murder beasts that many considered sacred. 

 

“So, what do you think?” 

 

Harry looked over his shoulder to see his partner and friend striding up to stand beside him, his interview with the Obliviation unit responsible for the report now apparently finished. The young wizard sighed and shook his head, unable to make heads or tails as to who or what could have done this. 

 

“I don’t know, Nev,” he answered truthfully, before nodding towards the dead unicorn at their feet, its throat slit, its silver eyes wide and unseeing. “But whoever or whatever did this is bad news.”

 

“Death Eaters?” Neville Longbottom supposed, his own deep brown gaze sweeping over the slain magical creatures with a disturbed grimace.

 

“It could be, but I doubted it,” the Boy-Who-Lived admitted with a frown. Death Eaters would have been his first assumption, too, if not for the fact that they had already caught and⁄or killed every known Death Eater just over a year ago. Of course, there was still a slim chance that Voldemort’s followers were responsible for this, but what could blood purists achieve by killing unicorns? If anything, they would have been more likely to kill Muggles or Muggleborns in an act of defiance, or in the name of their fallen master — he should know, he had been part of the primary unit of Hit Wizards responsible for their capture after the war. 

 

_ Death Eaters…  _ It certainly would make the case easier if they were involved. 

 

“My magic feels...uneasy. Like the air itself is stopping its natural flow. Don’t you feel it?” Harry cast a sideways glance at his fellow Auror, green eyes glinting in the spring sunshine.

 

Neville paused, and taking the unspoken suggested, moved his focus inward. Harry could see him reach into his magical essence, assessing its ebb and flow. A moment later, his blond companion gave a nod of confirmation, the indent in his brow displaying his troubled thoughts. There was something wrong with the magic in the air. Something dark, empty...sinister. 

 

Something strange going on, something they couldn’t possibly understand without expert help. 

 

“We’ll need some outside help, Harry. Maybe consult an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries.” 

 

Running a hand through his tousled raven hair, Harry took a deep breath, expressing his agreement to the idea. “We could...” 

 

Neville nodded, unsheathing his wand from its holster. “Good, I’ll call in Su—”

 

“But I know someone better.”

 

His partner stopped short, paused, then whipped his head towards the Wizarding World’s favourite hero, his mouth agape, his surprise palpable. “Harry, you can’t mean…” He broke off, hesitating. “But she...”

 

“She’s the best choice,” was the other man’s firm response, the stubborn set of his shoulders prominent even under his robes.

 

“But she hates you, mate.”

 

He winced at the blatant pronouncement.  “I know, Nev. I know.”

 

Auror Harry James Potter knew that all too well.

 

**_.:oOo:._ **


	6. Chapter Five - Humpty Dumpty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who read and reviewed last chapter! Your kind words really encourage me to find the time to write, despite my busy schedule! 
> 
> This chapter was intended to be longer, but I thought small, bite-sized chapters will help me update more frequently, considering. But let me know what you think on that front! Do you prefer long, action-pack chapters? Or short, leading ones?
> 
> This is un-betaed and un-Britpicked, so all grammatical and spelling mistakes are mine. I will be re-posting the edited version of this chapter in the future (likely at around the same time I update the next chapter), so in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> Cheers!

**10:45 AM**

**Friday, 21st March 2004**

**Department of Mysteries**

 

Standing right outside the Entrance Chamber of the Department of Mysteries brought on a lot of unwanted memories, thoughts of Sirius and how he'd fallen through the Veil chief among them. And though time had muted the gutting pain of losing the only family he’d ever known to a dull, throbbing ache, Harry could still feel a poignant sense of unease at being inside the department’s dim, windowless corridor. This was his least favourite place in the Ministry, the last place he'd ever been willing to go to...or so he’d thought.

 

Every fibre of his being was screaming at him to leave, to flee back to the Atrium where his grief could not suffocate him. But he couldn't, he wouldn't, and he didn’t, remaining stubborn and resolute in the face of his internal disquiet. He had a job to do.

 

_And a friendship to fix,_ he added to himself with a determined nod.

 

And so, it was with tense shoulders and a mulish jaw that Harry greeted Susan Bones a few minutes later, resolve in his bright green gaze.

 

“Susan,” he said as pushed himself up from the black walls he’d been leaning against and sent her a friendly smile. “Thanks for seeing me.”

 

The redheaded witch stopped in front of him and returned his greeting with an easy grin. “Hey, Harry. What can I do for you? Or should I say, for The Man Who Conquered?”

 

Said man groaned with an exaggerated roll of his eyes at her casual teasing, the embarrassment he felt at his public moniker obvious. After all these years, people still called him that; it was beyond irritating. And the root of the many ribbings he'd received from Seamus from when they had occasionally worked together as Hit Wizards. Now it seemed yet another one of his old schoolmates had no qualms taking up the baton.

 

 “Not you, too, Susan. Please, don’t call me that,” he pleaded.

 

The former Hufflepuff laughed, enjoying his discomfort, then tipped her head in solicitation. “You have to admit, it is quite catchy.”

 

The pained grimace he sent her way said all the thoughts he had on that particular matter. Susan chuckled in response, and Harry let himself relax a little. He rarely had the chance to interact with the other members of Dumbledore's Army these days — with the exception of Neville, for obvious reasons, and occasionally Ron — but they were all mostly in good terms. _Mostly._

 

The aftermath of the war had been difficult for many, if not all, of the survivors, but life had kept on moving forward, and everyone had simply let it take over; each one of them out to carve a life for themselves despite all their losses. At least that was what he had endeavoured to do when he had dived head-first into the fray in a desperate effort to build a life that only he could control. And he had somewhat succeeded, having now joined the Auror Office and settling into a balanced routine of work and leisure.

 

Harry sighed inwardly, getting down to his original purpose and moving past the friendly banter. There would be more time to socialise with old Hogwarts classmates later; right now, it was time to get right down to business. “Listen, Susan, did you receive an official request from the Auror Office?”

 

“Yes, we did.” Susan nodded, following his lead, her expression curious. “Croaker told us that the Aurors needed Unspeakable assistance, and had asked me to go on the field. I’ve just received the case report, and I’m heading over to the scene once I’ve finished reading through it. Did you need anything else?”

 

Harry took a deep, bracing breath, suddenly nervous. Getting Susan to help them with their case was easy enough. For one thing, she was an employee of the Ministry of Magic and she was obligated to do her part. For another, she had always been accommodating and friendly. But Harry also knew that Susan was a loyal person, a true credit to the badger house through and through, so getting her to aid him with another request outside of Ministry jurisdiction would likely take a lot of convincing.

 

“Neville and I are working on the case and our primary investigation has shown that ritual dark magic was involved. We need you to help us decipher what kind of magic was used on the scene and why.” 

 

Susan tilted her head to the side in thought, but gave a comprehending nod. “Okay. It's not my area of expertise, but I'll do what I can to help.”

 

“Actually…I do know someone who can help you with that.” Harry hedged, shifting awkwardly before looking at the woman squarely in the eyes, his words heavy with meaning. “We both do.”

 

There was a brief beat of silence as the witch returned his stare, before she shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Harry. If you want _her_ help, you'll have to take it up with her.”

 

The young wizard gave a resigned sigh at that. He knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. Susan had been Hermione’s champion against the ugly gossip that had swirled around the Ministry since her return. He wasn’t sure how much she knew about what had happened between them, but it was obvious from day one where her loyalties lay. “Susan, please. You know she won't talk to me. Not willingly, at least.”

 

“Then go to Department of International Magical Cooperation and request for her assistance there,” Susan reasoned, remaining resolute. “I won't be your messenger, Harry Potter. Not after...”

 

‘ _Not after he’d ruined her_ ’ were the words left unsaid.

 

“I did. They told me she's on leave for another week. This case can't wait that long,” Harry countered, the slight frustration he felt bleeding into his voice. “Besides, you and I both know her division doesn’t really report to that department; she won’t be obligated to work with the Aurors like other Ministry employees.”

 

Susan gave another shake of her head. “Maybe you can owl her. Make it a personal request.”

 

Except that any owls from him immediately got re-sent, unopened and untouched by the receiver. He knew — he’d probably sent nearly half a dozen of them in the last week alone.

 

“Come on, Susan, please?” Harry all but pleaded, changing tack. “I know you’re close friends. Couldn’t you at least mention it to her?”

 

“She’s my _best friend_ ,” the redhead bit out pointedly, stance defensive now.

 

The hailed Man-Who-Conquered flinched, more stung by those words than he cared to admit.

 

Seeing that she’d hit a nerve, Susan backed off, reigning in a temper Harry didn’t know she had. “Look, I’ve always stayed away from what had happened between the two of you, but I really think you should back-off, Harry.”

 

“Please,” he pressed with beseeching eyes.

 

There was a pause, Susan’s stare hard and searching. Finally, she relented with a sigh. “Fine.” The hopeful look that bloomed on his face at her acquiescence made the scowl on her brow return once more, though. “But I can’t make any promises. If she says no, that’s that, Potter!”

 

**_.:oOo:._ **

****

**11:03 AM**

**Friday, 21st March 2004**

**Churchill Gardens, Pimlico, London**

 

The loud crash that echoed throughout the small London flat jolted Hermione abruptly out of her thoughts, surprise causing her to spill ink onto the crisp parchment she’d been writing on. She looked up, alarmed, alert brown eyes quickly roving through the empty room she was in, the pair of toy centaurs transfigured from a pair of oven mitts lying immobile on the carpet her only company. Another resounding crash and a panicked yowl a second later, and she was on her feet like a shot.

 

“Philip!” she called out shrilly as she ran for the kitchen with her heart in her throat. She had been so immersed in her musings that she hadn’t even noticed him leave the sitting room! She was supposed to be keeping an eye on him, she berated herself, even as dread gripped her insides at the thought of a careless accident hurting the small child.

 

Half a dozen steps later and she was in their small kitchen, fearing the worst.

 

“ _Phi_ —” The young witch stumbled to a halt, then gasped, aghast at the sight before her. “ _Philip!_ ”

 

Broken eggs, spilt milk, overturned containers... Pots and pans hung from their respective cupboards and all the kitchen utensils littered the floor. It was a complete and utter mess!

 

And there at the heart of all the glorious chaos stood Philip, a wooden spatula in hand and a mixing bowl filled with a gooey mixture in the other. He looked up at her with delight in his eyes, his round face covered in sticky batter. “Wook, Mummy, I’m makin’ pancakes!”

 

A floating Crookshanks swept aimlessly past her at his declaration, looking positively antagonised with his claws still stuck on the chair cushion he’d clearly been lying on. The mischievous little imp giggled at the sight and used the spatula to point at her displeased Half-Kneazle. “With Cwooky!”

 

“Pancakes… Oh, honey,” Hermione breathed both in relief and in dismay, glad that he was unharmed, at least. She had spelled his clothes with cushioning charms as a precaution when he had started running around the sitting room and climbing over the couch with his toys, but she hadn’t thought he’d come rummaging around the kitchen. She walked over to the batter-covered child and summoned a clean piece of cloth. “You’re a mess.”

 

The curious scamp only grinned up at her, guileless and unrepentant, holding out his dripping mix of eggs and flour proudly for her to see. “It’s fow you!”

 

A surge of affection rushed through her at that, despite herself, and she took the dripping spatula and mixing bowl from him with a reluctant smile, completely charmed. Goodness, not only an hour ago she’d been so anxious about how she was going to take care of a small child, but she was utterly and hopelessly endeared by him. The maternal feelings that rose within her surprised her, and she felt strangely protective of him — fiercely so, for someone who had just found out about having a son mere hours ago.

 

“No, darling,” she began chidingly as she wiped his cheeks clean, “you can’t make pancakes without me or Aunt Susan around. It’s not good, okay?”

 

_Time is undone_ , Firenze had said, which meant that Philip’s presence in her timeline had already changed the course of the future he’d come from, like the centaurs seemed to believe he was meant to. But to what end? And why? Why was a toddler sent back in time? And by _who_? And why _her son_?

 

These questions had swirled around inside her head endlessly since she’d laid eyes on the little boy, and she had no way of knowing where to begin looking for the answers. It was an extremely frustrating predicament. _Bloody cryptic centaurs!_

 

“But I make pancakes!” Philip reasoned, as if that made all the point in the world.

 

“Not without me, okay, Philip?” Hermione shook her head firmly.

 

The apple-cheeked toddler looked up at her with a little pout, though his bright hazel eyes were large with guilt. “Okay, Mummy.”

 

“Good.” The new mother pulled back, satisfied with her work, and cast a silent cleaning charm over his small form, making her little troublemaker giggle as her magic washed over his skin. Cleaning charms on one's person may be convenient, but it wasn't nearly as satisfying without a good, old-fashioned scrubbing.

 

Crookshanks let out a disgruntled mewl from behind her, as if to remind her that he was _still_ _floating on thin air_ and she _shouldn’t forget_. Hermione turned and stifled a laugh at the picture of dignified disgust he had on his squashed face, 3 feet off the ground. He sniffed disapprovingly at her.

 

“Oh, I'm sorry, Crooks! Here, I'll get you down now!” the witch apologised, properly chastised.

 

And with a quick flick of her wand, the ruffled familiar floated down gently to the tiled floor, miffed and put-out. Once safely on the ground, he crowed his displeasure at both his humans and sauntered out of the kitchen to get some _real peace_.

 

“So,” Hermione began as she turned to the eager tot beside her,intent on distracting him until lunch time.

 

Just then, a soft chime of bells erupted from the thin white gold charm bracelet she wore around her left wrist. She lifted her hand and noticed the silver badger charm blinking delicately in the daylight streaming through the windows. It was a message from Susan. She swiped a thumb on its cool, smooth surface, and the badger moved, it's tiny yellow rhinestone eyes glinting as it lifted onto its hind legs to bare its belly to her. Small spidery letters faded in:

 

_Lunch?_ it said.

 

The young witch cocked a curious brow at the short missive. While having lunch together with her redheaded roommate was not a rare occurrence, the timing of her invitation seemed a bit off, considering their...unpredictable predicament. They hadn't discussed it, but Hermione didn’t really want to bring Philip anywhere public just yet, especially not when she hadn’t a clue about anything about him...but she also wasn’t sure what she should do with a small child the entire day — she had figured that she could keep him entertained with toys and snacks — but maybe a short walk at the park before lunch at a quiet Muggle café would help with his restless energy.

 

Glancing down at youngster tugging insistently on her trousers, she decided.

“What is it, Mummy? What is it?” Philip asked eagerly, standing on his tiptoes in a vain attempt to peek at the charm bracelet in her hand, considering he only came up to her thigh for his efforts.

 

“Just a charm message from Auntie Susie, darling,” she answered as she turned to him with a bright smile. “Hey, want to go to a park with me before lunch?”

 

Deep hazel eyes all but sparkled with excitement. “ _Yeah!_ I wanna go! _”_

_“_ Okay, then! Why don’t you go grab your cloak in the bedroom? Let me finish up here, and then we can go, okay?”

 

“Okay,” the toddler shouted happily as he peeled out of the kitchen, leaving his mum smiling slightly in his wake.

 

_Right, then,_ she thought, turning to the chaos left in the room with a sigh, infinitely glad that it wasn’t something that magic couldn’t fix.

 

With her tiny mischief-maker gone, Hermione left the kitchen with a sweeping wave of her wand, the cleaning spell shifting around the room in a fresh whirl of magic, putting everything back in its place. Another simple flick of her wand on the badger charm, and a quick affirmative response, along with the time and place, to Susan was sent. Then, she walked out into the sitting room and headed straight for her forgotten parchments. She had been in the process of writing a letter to an old friend, before Philip’s mishap tore her away from it.

 

An easy correction charm and a few short strokes on her quill later, and Hermione had her letter ready in hand. She set it on the little mailbox by the bay windows, trusting that the mailowls from the owl post would pick it up later. She turned back just as her little runt came running out of her bedroom, the cloak he had worn the night before dragging behind him.

 

“Mummy! Hewp!” Philip cried, hair curly raven hair bouncing in his rush as he shook a fistful of the cloak in the air at her.

 

Hermione laughed and took the midnight blue fabric. She would need to transfigure it into a proper muggle jacket, anyway, just warm enough to keep the spring chill away. Lifting the cloth to eye-level, she righted the cloak with a hard shake, before pointing her wand at it, ready to cast the necessary charms, when something caught her eye… just a quick shimmer of silver…

 

Brows furrowing in bafflement, the young witch peered at the thick cloak closely, sharp brown eyes intent. With sure hands, she deftly shifted through its softness until she found what she was looking for.

 

There, lining the inside of the child’s cloak, was a series of complicated runes stitched in with...with…

 

She drew the woolen material closer.

 

...with luminous silver _unicorn hair_ …

 

Finely-shaped brows flew up in surprise. “What in Merlin’s name…”


End file.
